


Never Cry Again

by backtoblack101



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: 1950s, Domestic, F/F, Future Fic, Light Angst, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:38:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5942380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backtoblack101/pseuds/backtoblack101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Therese's mother makes an unexpected appearance in Therese and Carol's lives, years after she abandon Therese in Montclair. Will they be able to move past their issues or is it a relationship that will always be doomed to fail?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Cry Again

**Author's Note:**

> So I was reading "Into Flame" by thisismybrainrain last night and it's such a wonderfully written Carol/Therese piece that it inspired me to write this. Enjoy, I guess... or whatever.

The diner Carol had picked for lunch was small, quaint, friendly. The food was subpar as far as she was concerned, though Therese’s eyes had lit up when she’d had her meal placed in front of her and after that they could have been serving dirt for all Carol cared. It sometimes scared her how easily Therese could prompt her smile, though it was days like today – days when they had nothing to bother them but how to spend their free time – she didn’t like to dwell on the overwhelming power her partner managed to hold over her without really seeming like she yielded any power at all. It was days like today Carol was happy to let her over peppered soup go cold and grow a skin as she watched Therese shovel forkfuls of lasagne into her mouth, only rarely taking pause to pardon her ravenous devouring of the meal.

Carol thought it had been one such attempt at excusing her hunger that was forming on the tip of Therese’s tongue when sauce had splattered the grotesquely checked table cloth. She’d looked up and her eyes had turned wide in abject and unabashed horror half way through the meal, though it took Carol only a split second to realise the source of Therese’s horror wasn’t the smudge of sauce, already making it place amongst the various stains already at home on the frayed table cover. Nor was it Carol that Therese was gazing at so bleakly, but rather an indeterminable point just behind her head. She didn’t have time to turn, didn’t need to either because Therese was already standing from her seat, a single tell all word already falling form her lips.

“Mom?”

-.-.-.-.-

“Madison Avenue. Ain’t half bad Therese!”

Carol grimaced every time Therese’s mother said her name. She stressed the syllables in all the wrong ways leaving the name Carol treasured most dearly sounding the way the lasagne stain had looked on the table in the diner.

Carol didn’t say anything though, jut unlocked the apartment door and ushered both women inside, resisting the instinctual urge to squeeze Therese’s arm as she passed. Resisting the even more pressing urge to simply wrap her in her arms until the shell shocked look in her eyes melted back to the confidence and passion Carol knew and loved.

“An’ you two live here together?” Therese’s mother – small and stout and so desperately unlike Therese Carol could only presume it was her father she’d taken after – asserted, taking in the entrance hall as she spoke in her broad inelegant accent.

“Yes,” Therese replied promptly, only realising once silence filled the air around the word that she should say something more. “I moved in with Carol two years ago.”

Carol was surprised by the response. On the one hand they’d always agreed that unless necessary, they would never directly lie about the nature of their relationship, and so they’d never felt the need to spin grand tale about how the living arrangement came about. On the other hand though Carol could never, would never, have faulted Therese for succumbing to that pressure to lie when talking to a figure so pivotal yet so estranged from her life.

She couldn’t help but smile.

Therese’s mother either didn’t notice, or deliberately chose not to. “Suppose you’d need a real swanky job to afford rent,” she said instead, inviting herself into the main living area while she spoke and simply expecting Therese and Carol to follow.

“I work for the New York Times,” Therese stated, her chest inadvertently puffing out with pride. “Though Carol actually owns the apartment outright, so we don’t have to worry about rent.”

“ _We_ own the apartment outright,” Carol corrected, force of habit compelling her in spite of present company.

She almost expected Therese to shoot her a glare – the kind usually reserved for when she’d drank too much and began lecturing Therese on how much better she could do for herself if she found someone her own age – though instead she just smiled, a small, shy smile.

“Yes, _we_ own the place outright.”

Again, whether Therese’s mother noticed the interaction or not remained a mystery. “Well I’ll tell ya it’s some joint. Must be real cold in winter.”

Therese began explaining all about the underfloor heating and Carol excused herself to prepare them some tea.

-.-.-.-.-

By the time Carol returned to the living room Therese’s mother was hunched over the photos that lined the windowsill – all taken by Therese of course – while Therese lingered behind her obviously eager for an opinion.

Carol set down the tray of tea on the mahogany coffee table – an antique a client had decided against last minute and she simply couldn’t bare see go back to the warehouse – then squeezed Therese’s arm briefly, biting her tongue to avoid lamenting the fact she didn’t need her mother’s approval on her work, nor should she seek it after all that had happened between them.

“This taken in Chicago?” Therese’s mother held up a photo of Carol, leaning against her car with a cigarette dangling between her lips and a smile half formed on her face.

Carol had to admit, in spite of her initial reluctance at the thought of being Therese’s muse, she had a way of capturing her on film that, just for a second, had Carol almost understanding what Therese must see in her.

“Yes,” Carol, offered when Therese remained silent just a second too long. “It’s from last summer.”

“Great city, Chicago,” her mother mused, placing the photo back on its perch.

“Indeed. It’s our second time there actually.” Carol already didn’t like Therese’s mother and she almost hoped she’d ask about their first road trip west just to watch her squirm.

“You travel together much?” Her mother turned her attention away from the photos entirely now, and stepped over to pour herself some tea.

“Not as often as we’d like.” Therese had found her voice again and Carol busied herself preparing her own tea so as not to feel too inclined to interrupt. “Carol’s daughter Rindy stays here every now and then and we like to spend as much time with her as possible so we plan our trips around her visits, and work of course.”

Carol wasn’t sure whether to feel impressed or uneasy with how little Therese was holding back. Still, she didn’t say a word.

“Ah, what age is your kid?” Again Therese’s mother didn’t dwell on the real meat of Therese’s statement.

“Six.” Carol barely glanced up from her tea to respond.

“Great age. Remember when you were that age Therese?” Carol didn’t need to look up to know Therese’s mother was asking the question with a reminiscent smile and the thought made her sick to her stomach.

The woman didn’t deserve reminiscent conversations over tea and biscuits with a daughter she’d abandon with all the mothering instinct of a rock. She wondered if this practical stranger even remembered Therese had been six when her father had died. Probably not.

“Not fondly,” Therese all but spat, and Carol knew she’d had the same thought.

“Ah you were cute. Shy, but cute.”

“Shame I wasn’t still as cute when I was eight.”

Carol didn’t flinch, even though the chill that swept the room could easily have had her shudder. Instead she placed her spoon gently at the edge of her saucer and stood swiftly, standing between Therese and her mother before another word could be said.

She spoke, crisp and clear, and without a single waver in her cold, grey gaze, almost relishing in the way Therese’s mother squirmed. “I’m sorry, though I do believe you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I wanted to show her I didn’t need her.” It was the first word Therese had spoken of the incident since her mother had left earlier with her tail between her legs.

Carol rolled onto her side in the bed, the streetlights through the thin curtains illuminating the outline of Therese’s face. She put a hand on Therese’s arm and waited for her to continue.

“I needed her to know that in spite of her I still grew up happy. Happier than I ever would have been with her.” She rolled until she faced Carol “Isn’t that ridiculous? All these years and my first thought upon seeing her is still a desire to seek her approval?”

“No,” Carol whispered, cursing her inability to empathise further. “I expect it completely natural.”

“When I was fifteen I used to imagine spotting her in the street and walking past as if she were a perfect stranger…” She trailed off, lost in her own head.

“You are the person you are today in spite of that woman Therese not because of her,” Carol whispered, praying her words carried the weight of a promise rather than an empty sentiment.

Therese didn’t speak for a while then and they just lay in silence, staring blindly at one another in the dark. Then, eventually, Therese lay in against Carol’s side, tucking her head against the crook of Carol’s neck and forcing her to lie on her back.

“I love you,” she whispered, the words soft but firm against Carol’s jaw.

“I love you,” Carol murmured back. “My orphan, flung out of space.”

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started writing this at 4am, while drunk, and although I've edited it since then I still apologize for any and all mistakes I may have missed.


End file.
